Dreamscapes

It seems the old melon has reached critical mass, the synapses just ain't firing right, something's gone amiss and it's interfering with my typically warped amusements. This morning I woke up from a dream in a sweat and was already mentally exhausted, lemme tell ya, that's one helluva way to start the day out.

The dream was as real as any I can remember, typically I remember my dreams, but they're abstract, off the wall crap or a continuation of work (yeah I'm one of those freaks that writes code & algorithms in his sleep). The part I remember starts at one of the most seedy strip joints in the state, I know how seedy it is cause I've been in there a couple of times to check it out, research folks research, oh and a bachelor party or two. Well there I am almost at the entrance of the club trying to make a break for it, I'm headed anywhere but in that club and fast, but the missus has a different idea. She's sending me in on a mission.

Seems that her baby sister, the attractive twenty year-old living with us while she's in college, has decided to take up the performing arts, and I'm the one that's been designated to convince her otherwise. So there we are arguing, okay I'm whining, about why I shouldn't be the one to go in. My primary reasoning, I haven't seen the sister-in-law's boobages and I don't think it'll do anything for family harmony for me to see them now. The missus, being the saintly lady she is, feels it's my "brotherly duty" to get her out of the club, no matter how many years of therapy it'll take to get over it. I keep bitching, "but I haven't seen her chesticles, and I don't think it's a good idea for me to see them now". Over and over I kept telling her that, finally she snaped and yelled at me, "DAMN IT IF YOU'VE SEEN ONE PAIR OF TITS YOU'VE SEEN THEM ALL".

With that bit of sulking, I did what any reasonable man would do, I tucked tail and walked into the establishment. The whole while I remember being afeared that I was gonna get a gander at her mammaries and they were gonna be engrained into my memories. Terrible folks, it's a damned terrible feeling. So I'm making my way through the club, the chicks are still unattractive (yeah, I'm troubled by that too, you'd think they would all look like Melissa Theuriau and Faith Hill, but no these chicks were nasty, fugly even) until I find the sister-in-law, who's getting ready to go on stage.

She's pissed 'cause I'm making a scene, not that I'd ever make a scene, 'specailly in a strip club, but finally she listens to reason. We're making our exit and the guys in the club start tossing beer bottles because I'm leaving with the only attractive chick in the joint. We get outside and the missus is pissed at me "because I took too damned long" and that's when I woke up.

Really folks, I'm starting to think that living in a house full of women is driving me batty. The most disturbing part of this, to me at least, is the ugly stripper part. I mean sure they're not the most attractive girls, but I was DREAMING. Damn it, I think I've got to turn in my man card, or perhaps head back to the Cheetah in Vegas, to refresh my memory on the intricacies of the performing arts. If I'm not willing to make that sacrifice to help pay some poor girl's college tuition who is?